and your breath comes in gasps over the line,
between the thunderclaps of passing cars
its murmur drowned out by their rattle in my ears.
i thread my way through quiet gravel paths
treading by Parisien dorms, silent-black
under the blood-brown moon.
our fingers freeze together in the interminable cold.
Orion to the north
and Venus, you tell me, to the east
but i can’t see
what your clear river view affords because stately pines bar the horizon in the park across the street.
so you whisper over the line that
she shines so very brightly and i
smile quietly to myself and
the black cat that crosses my path.
mutta olen rohkea
and superstition and soft silver morning sights make all things sweeter.
…une lune plein de sang
Creep up creaking stairs in the dark as the first sighs of the early tram sing below my window.